The Cleft
I have a place, to run to,
A place, where I can hide,
A place of peace, and safety,
Where, comfort is supplied,
I’ve been here, for a while,
My roots, are planted deep,
And because the Rock, surrounds me,
I escape the winds, harsh sweep,
But I just must be, honest,
At times, I feel hemmed in,
I wonder, where I might be,
Had I not been, where I’ve been,
I gaze, from my mountain’s crevice,
Upon, the plains below,
To view, the forest’s majesty,
And see how vast, they grow,
Then I see storms, on the horizon,
Quickly, sweeping down,
The forest, lies with-in it’s path,
There’s no safety, to be found,
I watch, in utter horror,
The twisted limbs, and bough,
For they do not, share my crevice,
My Rock, they do not know,
Thoughts of complaint,are swept away,
I am thankful, once again,
To be planted here, in the Cleft of the Rock,
Sheltered, safe in Him.
c.d.m. 8-21-10
Your poetry really tells a great truth.